Page 17 of The Sadist and the Brat

Her lips twitched, and she took the two steps necessary to put it in his hand. “I know you said you only have one rule, but I’d feel better if you gave me some guidelines for this.”

He crossed to the table and placed it on top of the toy bag he had stashed beneath. “Fair enough. I want you naked with your hair out of the way.”

The way she blinked told him the order took her off guard, but she reached for the trio of small buttons holding her dress together without hesitation. “I don’t have anything to put it up with.”

He always kept elastics on hand for himself—he didn’t like his hair in his face when he played—so he crouched and reached into his bag. He rose to his feet just as she peeled the dress off her shoulders and tossed it aside.

He shook his head when he saw the details on the pasties covering her nipples. “Only you.”

“What?” She glanced down at herself, delight lighting her expression. “Aren’t they awesome?”

“Where did you even find pasties shaped like spiders?”

“I didn’t,” she confessed, and tossed the hat after her dress. “They’re just regular stickers with body glue added to hold them in place. I glued the googly eyes on, too.”

“Inventive,” he drawled, and watched her breasts sway—and the googly eyes jiggle—as she bent forward to peel off her boots.

“I like costumes,” she said, grunting a little as she tugged first one, then the other boot off and tossed them aside.

“I noticed.” He twirled a finger in the air. “Turn, please.”

She wanted to roll her eyes—he could tell—but she simply turned to give him her back.

She was in good shape, muscles flexing subtly under soft white skin. She had a smattering of freckles across her shoulders, and a small cluster decorating her left buttock, bared by the G-string. He eyed her ass critically, his mind on the impact toys he’d planned to demonstrate. It was firm and round, as were her thighs, and her hips…

“I’m going to put my hands on you,” he warned her, and reached out to cup her hips. They were nicely padded, the bones shielded by a good layer of muscle and fat, and he grunted with satisfaction. He slid his hands down her legs to feel the muscles there, pausing when she shivered.

“Are you cold?” he asked mildly, careful to keep the satisfaction out of his voice. The room was warm, and though he had more muscle mass than she did—and more clothes—he didn’t think her reaction had anything to do with the temperature.

“No,” she said, and twitched again under his hands. “Just a little ticklish.”

“That’s not the kind of thing you should say to a sadist,” he advised, his amusement deepening.

She snorted. “Good note.”

His eyes were locked on her ass. That little cluster of freckles was vaguely heart shaped, and he gave into the urge to trace his thumb over them. “Are you okay with non-penetrative genital contact?”

“That’s fine.” She twisted around, peering over her shoulder at him. “Is there something wrong with my ass?”

“Nope.” He lingered for a heartbeat more before dropping his hands and stepping back. “Continue, please.”

She turned back around and hooked her thumbs in the thin strings over her hips. She shoved the panties down and off with brisk efficiency that shouldn’t have been the least bit enticing. And the sight of her naked was nothing new—it was actually far more rare to see her clothed. But when she tossed the panties on top of her boots and dress and reached for the pasties, he couldn’t help but stare.

Her tits were round, her pussy waxed bare, and every inch of her looked so damn soft, he just wanted to sink his teeth into her.

“Ow,” she muttered, pulling his attention back to her face. She was tugging at the sticker on her left breast and wincing. It clung to her skin, clearly unwilling to let go.

He couldn’t blame it.

“Want a hand?” he asked.

“I’ve got it,” she muttered, and gave it a solid yank. It came free, leaving behind dried glue and reddened, puffy skin. She grabbed the other one firmly, ripping it off with one swift motion.

Her nipples were a pale pinkish brown—the same color as those beguiling freckles—and looked as soft as the rest of her until she began rubbing at them. “Sore?”

“Itchy,” she replied, and peeled a small string of dried adhesive from her skin. “I used too much glue.”

Her nipples were pebbling, their color deepening when she rubbed harder. “Do you need something to get it off?”

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